


La Belle

by 3arlgr3yt3a



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Based on The Clockmaker's Daughter by Kate Morton, Betrayal, Destiny, Eventual Smut, F/F, Falling In Love, Flowery Prose, Fluff, I'm Bad At Summaries, Kara is a famous artist, Lena Luthor Needs a Hug, Lena is illusive but she's Kara's muse so whoever she is it doesn't matter, Lena's forced to do something she doesn't want to, Light Angst, POV Kara Danvers, POV Lena Luthor, Protective Kara Danvers, Sad Lena Luthor, Smut, Soul Sex, Soulmates, Strangers to Lovers, it's written way too fancily to be smut but it is, sensual, set sort of in the 1850s but very lightly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:54:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22089697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3arlgr3yt3a/pseuds/3arlgr3yt3a
Summary: Kara Danvers, an incredible artist with charisma, talent, and a zest for life is debuting her newest painting. But the vision for her next piece is an itch in her mind that will not be scratched. It is a picture her mind has provided her, one she's had for months but cannot bring to fruition because never could she possibly find a model whose beauty remotely resembles La Belle.Until she spots her across the room, turning towards the door to walk out into the night. The woman her mind has conjured and somehow painted into existence, has appeared right before her eyes and Kara knows in this moment, she is her muse... her destiny. Her name, she told the artist, is Lena Luthor.Kara doesn't think to ask who exactly Lena is, her only focus is that she's found her and she must paint her. Who is Lena? And in Kara's innocence, will she overlook something that should strike her as... suspect?But Lena isn't the only one with a secret. Kara is recklessly putting her future at stake, one so carefully constructed by those before her to uphold her name. Would she throw that all away on an inexplicable notion of, dare I say, destiny?
Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor
Comments: 28
Kudos: 64





	1. Une

There was something inherently beautiful about human beings interacting with one another. The subtle touches on an arm in the depths of conversation; or the raw, almost palpable thing it was to look into another’s eyes with one’s own. The things that could be seen. She loved to watch the people around her, seated at tables, leaning on their forearms on counters set high enough, sipping on their drinks as they exchanged words with one another. All throughout the room a living and breathing hum pulsed through the air, some called it music, but she called it the river between all souls. They all interconnected at some point. 

She was alone at the table, resting easily on her forearms, one hand tucked in the crook of her elbow, the other drawing patterns on the condensation rimming her drink. But somehow she didn’t seem alone if anyone were to look over at her. 

It was Kara Danvers whose charisma leapt most vividly from every smile she smiled alone; her energy and openness and willingness to engage with life and everything it offered evident in any exchange of words ever to be held with her. If one wasn’t intimately familiar with her, one would never say she was perched on the edge of artistic poverty. One certainly couldn’t glean that from her art. The inclusiveness of her art, it's readiness to grow and transmute and capture experiences, was clear. Each line and stroke of brush pulsed with youth, possibility, and sensuality. 

This was what everyone was supposedly gathered here for, after all. Kara Danvers’ newest piece. It was on display in the front foyer where most of the rich and dignified were gathered around it to discuss in most liberal terms the  _ ingenious  _ of it. Very few people knew what Kara Danvers looked like, despite their boastings in intelligence and power, those gathered knew not that the artist herself sat amongst the many strung here only through utter enthrallment. 

As much as Kara enjoyed the appreciation shown for her art, watching the entrancement and glee inspired in the eyes of those looking upon her pieces; she truly couldn’t wrap her mind around the amazement people had for her ability and the things her hands produced-- _ her!  _ Joy split her cheeks every time she witnessed it and a warmth bubbled inside. She was so thankful. 

But this wasn’t her scene, these weren’t her people. These may be those wealthy enough to afford standing in consideration, hands to their chins, whether or not to be the one to buy her art, but these were not those she created her art for. 

She finished the rest of her rounded citrus flavoured drink and slid out from the table, weaving her way through throngs of people, narrowly avoiding the few friends who knew her face. Already, her hands itched to hold her paintbrushes in her hands. The image in her mind plagued her day and night, she could not rid herself of the raven beauty struck upon the canvas of her eyelids. It was an itch that she needed to scratch, but none of her models measured up. None of Alexandra’s nor Samantha’s models measured up. 

They were the Magenta Sisterhood, and they’d always shared their models. Passing them along from piece to piece; in each through the different media each were master of, the same faces reappeared in their own ways. But there was no one model who could ever fit the plans her mind had so stubbornly and adamantly created. 

She rushed down the stairs, an elegant maroon-walled corridor that turned on itself three times, spiraling to the floor below. Downstairs was the upper-class’s version of a bar. Too expensive to get too drunk at, but far too much music and dancing and frivolous  _ fun  _ for anyone of dignitary value to find themselves in.This was fractionally more for her.

Kara settled into a booth after snagging yet another crafted beverage, this one containing alcohol, she hoped, and pulled her sketchbook from the inner pocket of her silk lined jacket. The black and white which encased her body clawed at her soul. For living in a world of colour, this suit was not for her. She tugged the bow tie free, popping the top two buttons in aggravation, and threw it to the table. Putting her pencil to paper, she drew yet another version of  _ La Belle.  _

_ “Alex, she is the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on. In my mind, she always appears with these shimmering eyes, so deep and full of the world of whispered secrets but the colour such a shallow green, it’s almost contradictory. Her smile. She’s always slack faced, but on her, that expression can never be fitting. The stillness of her mouth is ever enduring a tug at the corners of her lips, as if she’s always wanting to smile or- or laugh at me or something. _

_ “It’s like she knows something I don’t. Her hair is the darkest river of black I’ve ever seen, never seen, which is probably why I will never find someone to model  _ La Belle  _ for me.” _

_ “You will find someone, because you  _ have  _ to paint this, Kara.” Alexandra insisted. _

_ Kara just carried on over the words she’d heard many times already. Alexandra didn’t understand that there was no one who matched the beauty of the vision her mind concocted. “Her jaw is wide and bold but so elegantly so, and it’s always set in a stubborn defiance. Sometimes her head is tilted and she’s looking up through her eyelashes, and sometimes her chin is high and she’s looking down with nothing except power.” _

_ “Is she always in that room and that dress?” In the sisterhood, the artists always coaxed each other's envisioning of their newest pieces with questions of setting and lighting and mood.  _ La Belle  _ hardly needed it. _

_ Kara had felt her face heat from her neck to her hairline. “Not always the same dress. And sometimes in a different setting, at times in a wooded area, other times bathed in afternoon sun. But what is always the same is her unmistakable queenliness which almost seems an aura not from this world, and the jewel hanging from her neck.” Kara’s hands clenched together, becoming anxious and panicked. “Alexandra, I need to do this.” _

_ “You’ll find her.” _

The graphite had danced across her linen page feverishly, the desperation and awe in Kara flowing through her tool to pool across the page. Who was she to be plagued by this beauty? Why was it thrust upon her to undertake the feat of painting this woman who Kara could never possibly do justice. 

In the frantic movements of wrist and arm, Kara doubled over with furrowed brow, she felt suddenly as though a finger had prodded her stupor and the hairs on her nape rose. Her hand stilled and she raised her head gradually, her mind reaching to pinpoint what had interrupted her so. 

As her eyes leveled, they settled on a figure on the higher level of balcony across the room. Her head was down, hair darker than night hanging over her face; but like she, too, had a string that tugged at her neck, she lifted it, pushing away from the railing and turning to exit out the door behind her. Kara's mind turned in on itself, almost wanting a double take. Was her drawing still just swimming in her eyes that a trick of the light made it reality? Obviously that could not be the case. 

In that moment, Kara had never felt more sure of anything in her life, even the thumbs at the ends of her hands. Every molecule of air felt as though it had been sucked from her lungs. Frozen, stricken, rooted in her seat it took an agonizing minute before it dawned on Kara that she needed to go after her. She needed it more desperately than plants needed sunlight. 

A force of nature was nothing comparable to the rush with which Kara bolted from her seat, the sketchbook forgotten on her table, the drink half drunk. She stumbled over her feet in her haste, weaving through swaying bodies, using her hands to wade through as if it may help. The usual courtesies forgotten as aggressive calls of “Hey!” and “Watch it!” followed her form. She registered none of it.

The artist took the stairs three at a time in pursuit of her muse and threw open the doors to let the biting cold of a white flurry outside nip at her heaving chest. Her feet planted themselves in the threshold when her eyes landed on the woman, she had not left for home. She was simply standing, a short glass of amber liquid clutched in her hands and her face tipped to the sky, eyes closed. 

That smile.

_ That smile.  _

No, that merest  _ suggestion  _ of a smile, secretive and drawing her in played at her painted lips and Kara knew in that moment she would never experience such fulfillment in her life ever again. 

A dress of the deepest red hugged her beautiful curves, leaving her arms bare and dappled with gooseflesh. Her breath floated graciously from her nose, crystalizing in cloudy formations on the air. She must have been cold.

Leaving the doors behind, Kara rejoiced in the decision her feet had made to move, carrying her swiftly, trotting down the seventeen stairs. Coming to stand beside the woman on the edge of a silent, blanketed roadway illuminated only by a gentle streetlamp encased in it's curving black lamp post. 

Kara was not casual in the way she sidled beside her, did not stand with her hands in her pockets, looking forward and breathing in deeply, saying something like “Stuffy in there, isn’t it? It’s a beautiful night.” No, her eyes never left the woman, her enchantment proudly displayed for the world to see; her mouth slightly agape in something of disbelieving wonder. 

The woman heard her obviously, Kara’s breathing had not yet settled from her eager dash. She could’ve given her credit for not startling at her sudden presence, or backing away with suspicion in her eyes. The brunette vision leveled her chin and her eyelids gradually opened, turning to settle those incredible studies in sage on Kara. There was only curiosity in her gaze. Her head cocked imperceptibly in a question and that hint of a smile shadowed in the graceful slope of her lips.

“Hello,” Kara breathed. “I-I…” She cursed herself for that loss of words. She breathed in the crispness of the night. This woman was her destiny, she was sure of it. Kara rephrased herself. “I am a painter and I wish to paint your portrait.” It was all she could think to say. Only the chord of simple truth was one fit to ring out that night.

The room had been too stuffy, music loud and dancing vivacious, and she had to escape. Outside, it was a flurry; a little whirlwind of cold, feather-light kisses. With leisurely steps, Lena Luthor lifted her skirt in her hand not occupied with the whiskey, and descended the stairs, careful not to slip. Landing on the sidewalk under a lampost out of Narnia, she stood, crossing her arms and tilted her face toward the falling snow. Looking up into a snowfall was an incredible experience. To watch thousands upon millions of fluffy crystals dance and swirl, tugged by gravity to fall on the earth and cover it in something  _ clean  _ and  _ new. _ To see so many things in motion all at once should have been dizzying, but it could only be magical.

The doors rattled open behind her and she almost sighed at the reminder that she was not the only person on this street, under this sky, on this night. It took a beat before footsteps pounded down the steps in a great hurry, only to come to a stop right beside her. The body on her right breathed heavily, quickly, as if at this moment in their life something important was happening. She could feel the weight of a gaze on her, but Lena couldn’t bring herself to worry, to fear. Her curiosity, though, was peaking ever so slowly. 

Cracking open her eyes, she settled them on a young woman fitted elegantly in a crisp suit, blonde hair trailed over her shoulders in tousled curls. Well, it must have been crisp when she donned it, for now the neck gaped and the tie had been lost. With her sharp eyes, Lena picked out smudges of shimmering grey on her forehead just above an indented scar at her eyebrow, and following logic, her fingertips, as if she’d run a hand through her hair and smudged the graphite.

In that moment of stolen peace, the woman in a suit with pencil smudges on her face had appeared from the same doors by which she had left, catching Lena without her mask. It was like the swift clarity that comes with the lifting fog. She felt alert, suddenly filled with anticipation, and yet at once unsurprised, for how could the night have ended without their meeting?

The mysterious woman stepped towards her, and when she reached out to brush Lena’s cheek with graphite free knuckles, her touch was as light as if Lena were one of the treasures in the tresses of her mother’s collection. Her blue eyes studied hers.

Neither one could say how long they stood like that--seconds, minutes--time had slipped its bounds.

Finally she spoke. She claimed she was a painter, and wished to paint Lena’s portrait.

She had absolutely ruined Lena’s plans for the evening, but she found that to finish her task another night would be fine.

  
  


Kara should have flushed in embarrassment the moment such words left her lips, any other day and scenario, she would have. But she only waited in eager anticipation to hear her vision speak, lest she be imagining it all.

“And you are?” Kara’s chest filled with light. It was a simple phrase, only three small, one-syllable words, but it wasn’t said in disdain or qualm, but in genuine interest and curiosity. She was Irish, Kara placed it immediately. The extended pronunciation and space her  _ ‘r’s  _ seemed to take up, was like a chasm opening that Kara tumbled into. Though it was not dark nor endless in its drop but an encircling comfort that held her, told her to listen. 

“Kara. Kara Danvers.” In a snap of fingers, her emboldened bravery cracked the door open to allow Kara herself back and she brought her hands to fidget together. “May I- may I know yours? I believe I have been waiting a long time to meet you.” 

She once again, showed no sign of surprise or skepticism. But finally, after all these months, Kara saw the smile that had threatened itself for so long. Her teeth were exposed perfect pearls with generous gum and it was unlike Kara had ever witnessed. It was beautiful; wide and unrestrained and… beautiful. Like everything seemed to be with this woman, a hint of a dimple rested nestled in her cheek, and Kara wondered then, what would bring it out. 

“This may be absolutely crazy, but I feel like… I, too, have been anticipating this.” She ended her sentence with a higher lilt, as if questioning the sanity of the situation, though not caring to really heed rational thought. Her accent. Her voice. Smooth and elegantly deeper and so beautifully irish. “Lena.” Her lips came together in a softer smile; something inexplicably akin to home in Kara’s baffling mind. “Lena Luthor."


	2. Deux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! Here we have some foreshadowing into Lena's mystery and a bit more of Kara's dynamics. I have chapter 4 written but not 3 so that's funny. but they'll be coming soon!

"Would you like to go back inside and let me get you another drink? Or if you'd rather just come to my studio when you're ready to start; whenever you are free, that is... you haven't actually confirmed, really, if you would let me paint-" Kara had launched into an impassioned rambling, the nervous energy and built up anticipation bubbling over in the form of words. At the study of Lena's features, Kara discovered the woman thought it endearing, but in her desire to make a good impression she cut herself short. 

Lena let out an airy laugh. "Miss Danvers… what an honour," she lifted her fingers to touch lightly her neck in a sort of casual hesitance, "for you to ask me such a thing. Why paint my portrait?" 

Tipping her head suddenly, Kara flustered with a hand to rub behind her neck, her cheeks warm. "I- ah, well you- you see…." Kara made herself look Lena in the eye, and searching them, found a peaceful openness. She wanted nothing more than to ever share the truth with this lady, about anything; be it small things or those of utmost importance. There was no need at all, she found, to feel nervous in Lena's presence. Whatever Kara said, she knew, would always be accepted with a respecting embrace. 

"For all my pieces, I usually have some sort of picture or vision if you will, that develops gradually in my mind's eye until I've found a model to fit and the whole picture is solidified to the point where I can sit down and paint it. And recently– well actually months ago, this vision came to my mind much more forcefully than most and in such clarity. It kept hounding me. It was of a woman with… unmatched beauty. More beautiful than I'd ever seen. But it wasn't only beauty, but the emotion she exuded in the most subtle of features; the story a simple picture painted for me. 

"It wouldn't leave me alone, and I couldn't yet sit to paint it because, try as I might, I couldn't find a model that matched up. I couldn't put such emotion and–and depth into a painting without seeing it for myself. Without touching, and studying from every angle. I thought I would never find her, Miss Luthor. I had all but given up hope, setting it to rest, which of course wasn't possible because it's an itch I couldn't scratch. I made sketch after sketch, trying to satisfy it but it only put gas to the flame. 

"And then I saw you. It is  _ you,  _ Lena! I don't how! I don't know why! But you are  _ La Belle,  _ the woman of my vision.  _ La Belle,  _ the piece's name." Kara had reached to take up Lena's hands, plucking her glass of liquor and setting it by their feet. Clutching her hands almost reverently, she shared her excitement.

"Me." It wasn't a question, simply a breathed acknowledgment. "Then it shall be my honour, Kara," she said, following the artist's lead to shrug off formalities, "to sit subject for your talent." Lena took her hands back to rub at her arms with a smile representative of new beginnings. 

"Here..." Kara shrugged off her jacket to place around Lena's shoulders. Seeing the inner pocket, she was reminded of her sketchbook left abandoned at the table. "I ah left my sketchbook inside in my haste to catch you, I'm going to get it and pay for my drink, or you can come with me and I'll replace that… scotch?" Lena tugged the jacket lapels close in appreciation

"Bourbon. But I'd actually prefer if I was relieved of that environment for tonight?" Her eyebrows came together sweetly in question.

"Yes, of course! Would you wait for me? I'll be right back?" Kara was turning for the stairs and waited for Lena's nod. 

Moments later, Kara returned, a worn leather-bound book gripped tightly in hand. Lena set the empty glass on a step for someone to hopefully find, and took the arm Kara offered her. "Would you like to go for a walk? It's a beautiful night? Or we can meet for the painting on the morrow instead." She was eager to start as soon as possible.

"How about you walk me home and we can discuss the dynamics of the situation?" Lena received a gleeful grin.

"I have a small studio on my mother's property, it's a private little building where I isolate myself most days. If it works for you, we would be there; you sitting and being beautiful and me painting while we eat sandwiches my little niece will bring us and we talk. I don't like to sit for long nor make my models, so we can take lots of breaks over the course of the day or simply be busy for three hours at a time or so." She turned to look at Lena. "So, tell me what you would think best?"

"I think that sounds wonderful. How I'd love to sit and talk to you all day, but I'm not too sure my mother would be pleased me taking so much time to myself." She winced slightly.

"Oh! Oh, of course! I will meet with your mother and your father and your whole family too and ask for their permission, ensure them that your association with me and modeling will not tarnish your fine reputation. We will have short meetings then, I need not finish the painting in just a few days." Kara was nodding confidently now. "Yes, I will bring my parents as well so that we might assure your family fully that their daughter be in reputable hands."

Lena laughed at her now, for Kara's worry unnecessary. If Kara were not so focused she may have noticed the strained chord in it. "Alright. Thank you, but I'm sure you have a fine reputation and for me to model will not tarnish anything."

Kara's cheeks pinked. "Oh but I'm sure some models need be scandalously… dispositioned. But th-that will not be the case, it is just your portrait I desire."

Lena stayed silent but for a smile which put a twinkle in those enigmatic eyes. That's what it was: enigmatic. The word to describe everything Kara felt in this Lena.

They arrived at a tall brick house trimmed in white with an impeccable garden, not far from where they'd met. At the gate Lena turned to Kara to bid farewell. "Tomorrow, well will be waiting for you at eleven. Then, with my mother's blessing we will go to your studio and begin."

A crease appeared in Kara's brow. "Just your mother, I'm sorry…." She feared she'd been insensitive.

Lena waved it off. "Yes ah, my father is no longer with us."

"Lena I'm sorry," Kara breathed, more than ready to kick herself. Her raven beauty just smiled graciously.

"Goodnight, Kara. What a fateful evening it has been."

With a troubled groan of the old, worn door, Kara pushed it open, ready to slump against it's well loved wood and sigh or mull or anything in expression of her disbelieving contentment. A fateful evening indeed. But before she stepped foot over the threshold, her young niece was jumping into her arms with delighted glee. "Kara! You're back!" Ruby squealed, squeezing Kara tightly, threatening her ease of breath by digging a bony shoulder into her neck. 

"Bean!" She laughed, sliding the girl to perch on her hip. Together they walked to the kitchen where her mother, Samantha, and Alexandra were gathered at the table for evening tea. "Hello mother," she greeted with a kiss to Lady Eliza's cheek, her mother's hand coming up to frame her own.

"Where were you? The artist herself wasn't at her own debut the whole night," Alexandra joked, though a genuine curiosity evident beneath.

And this was Kara's cue to pull a chair out and seat herself, completing their little square with Ruby on her lap. "Oh it was the most wonderful night!" She launched into an animated recount. 

"I met her, Alex, I finally found her," Kara finished.

Her sister, younger by only a year, had a stunned expression before her face broke into gleeful celebration. "You found her. You found her! Kara, I told you you would! And is she everything you've envisioned her to be?" Her earthly eyes sparkled, framed by a deep, dirty flame of hair.

"More," She breathed. "I was so caught up in the impossibility of it all that halfway home from walking her, I realized I had lost my wallet. I retraced my steps and found it at My Fair Lady, empty of course." Despite the unfortunate incident, she couldn't bring herself to be brought down from her high; besides there couldn't be more than a few notes in there anyway. Her painting had yet to sell.

"When will you start, is she coming to your studio?" Samantha promoted after an exchanged glance with Alexandra, Kara missed.

"I'm going to meet with her family tomorrow, explain the arrangement, ensure them their daughter will not be brought into any unreputable light. Will you and Father come, Mother?" She turned towards the Lady, adorned finely with her hair in an elaborate swirl of gold. 

"I'm afraid he has been called away again. He will return on the fortnight.

Kara's face barely fell. "Shame, ah well, then you and I, mother. We are due at eleven."

Pleasantries exchanged, they parted ways to settle for the night. Of course, only after Kara went to tell Ruby a story she always insisted on Kara telling. She was, after all, the best storyteller; engaging and enthusiastic, no one could replicate the sheer magic she could entwine with her words.

A flutter in her stomach would not settle as Lena was poked and prodded, her mother flitting about around her; smoothing her dress, repositioning the neckline, pushing the pins even farther into her scalp, Lena was sure they would soon draw blood.

"Lena this is your chance, my girl!" She could not remember last when such affection had slipped from the woman who had taken her in. "The aspiring young artist, daughter of the Lord and Lady of Manchester wants to paint you! I knew you would step up to your worth soon. I'm sure their wealth is unmatched," her mother mused, forgetting almost that Lena was in the room and the subject of Lillian's fingers, she was sure.

"Yes mother." The awaited knock on the door sounded.

"Our future is here!” 

After settling in their sitting room which only recently had undergone an extravagant remodeling from the vipers' den it used to be, Lena's skirts arranged meticulously around her. Her mother had unnecessarily drilled into her head ' _ your posture!' _ , and as always, Lena sat elegantly; gracefully commandeering the room without her knowledge. 

Kara, today, was in cream silken suit, dressed up to impress—as Lena knew this wasn't what an artist could stand wearing daily. "Mrs Luthor, hello, how lovely to meet you. Kara Danvers, and my mother, Lady Eliza Danvers." Kara took Lillian's outstretched hand and kissed the knuckles. Lena very barely held onto the laughter on her tongue. Kara's eyes fluttered to hers, and the sparkle in them privately shared in Lena's amusement. 

"Mrs Luthor, to get right to the point. I'm an artist and I wish to employ your daughter as my model for my next piece. Her beauty is unmatched and there is no one who could be found more fitting." Lena's heart performed a little dance everytime Kara lavished her so liberally with her compliments. She was aware of the fortunate features she was blessed with, but to have Kara acknowledge it so openly? It was something else entirely. Was it because, as an artist, her critical eye was so much more sensitive and attuned to the rare and beautiful in life? A small smile settled itself on her face as Kara rambled on.

"Well… I don't know what to say." With a glance to her mother Lena found a faux hesitant concern. Were the woman her father left her behind to any less alike scum, she'd have made an excellent actress. 

Poor Kara, naive to the true nature of the Luthor, jumped at her mother's words. "I know it may seem like a fair cause for hesitancy, but I assure you, Mrs Luthor, that your daughter will not face any unreputable circumstances of any kind; it is only her portrait I wish to capture."

Unsatisfied, Lillian Luthor hummed behind the frown. "In my Lena dear's absence, I'm afraid the loss of income would be to great…" She studied her nails with an almost apologetic expression. 

"Oh! Oh, of course!" The endearment Lena would come to feel for this Kara was becoming increasingly clearer. "I will compensate for that, happily paying for your daughter's time and effort."

With the distance between them perched on the sittay, Lena could almost feel the intrigued, greedy glint appear in her mother's eyes. "Yes that will have to come straight to me." Kara was nodding resolutely and as Lillian swindled her way to a sizeable profit off her husband's illegitimate daughter, all because a pretty young artist was entrapped with her. Lena couldn't bring herself to care. She was excited to see what would become of this. Who wouldn't feel the flattery of such a situation. 

Looking up, she found Kara's eager eyes on her and Lena smiled, unsurprised to have it returned instantly. As Lena went to follow Kara out the door, she was stopped with a hand on her arm. "Remember our deal, Lena." She swallowed, a heavy feeling settling in her stomach again. 

"Yes, mother." 

  
  


Consequently after the meeting came to its conclusion, Kara walked with Lena on her arm to step into the Danvers' black coach to take them to her studio. The ride was filled with Lena's quiet chatter with her mother, and Kara was buzzing beside her, sure that Lena could charm even Lady Catherine Grant. She smiled at the thought.

Arriving on their estate, Lady Eliza retreated to the house, pleading matters that required attention. Again, Kara offered her arm and a smile. "Shall we?"

Her studio was nestled in the far corners of the property, just before the start of the treeline. The sprawling green lawn was soft underfoot; Kara had taken her shoes off the moment they'd arrived home, much to Lena's amusement. To Kara's surprise, the lady had readily followed suit, and her slippers dangled from her fingers.

Kara swung open the two french doors to her studio and stepped aside to let Lena enter. She was almost nervous of what Lena would think. It was an airy, bright little room; the walls littered with scattered sketches and an easel stood proudly on the open wooden floor, splattered with every stray colour. This was her private domain, a haven where Kara could feel everything was right with the world while she took it apart piece by piece and stitched it back together in a new way. A better version of itself.

"It's lovely, Kara," Lena breathed. She liked it. 

"Isn't it?" Coming to stand beside Lena where she gazed out opposing windows looking out into the forest, she put her hand on Lena's arm. "Can I get you anything? Tea? Uh, I'm sure I have some whiskey?" She scratched her head, suddenly worried. She herself preferred wine over strong liquor. 

Lena only laughed, "Perhaps it's a bit early for that. Tea would be lovely. Peppermint if you have."

Finally they were settled. Lena on the chaise and Kara on the stool before her easel. She had eagerly rid herself of her finest suit and changed into beige, paint flecked trousers and a loose shirt, the sleeves rolled to her elbows. "If it's okay with you, we're not going to start  _ La Belle _ right away. I'm going to do a few sketches of you to learn your face, the way you exist in the space you do."

Lena nodded at that, with that little smile ever present. "How should I sit?" 

"However you like. We'll change your pose every time."

And like Lena was a natural-born, she turned her face towards a window, the light spilling over her profile in a generous offer. Kara's grin could have lit up the room had she not hid behind her canvas and picked up her charcoal. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! please let me know what you think, what you suspect Lena's hiding, and even what you'd like to see in this story. next chapter coming soon!


	3. Trois

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three! I have about 9000 words written now so I'll be posting the next chapters consecutively. Prepare for a bit more mature subject matter, but barely. I hope you enjoy! Don't forget to please comment:)

As the days passed, they talked about everything, as they sat; Lena the subject, Kara the willing observer, drinking up every little thing Lena would offer. They didn't speak of trivial details one would think to ask an acquaintance to better know them, but they conversed of life and love, of the world and how it ought to be, of the definitive and indefinite, and also somehow the most intimate truths. In every answer and question Lena gave, Kara easily saw the intelligence behind it, the passion and the genuine care. Somehow, this woman could draw nothing but honesty from Kara's lips, and it was unlike any conversation she'd ever partaken in.

Eventually, every sketch on Kara's walls was replaced with that of Lena. She infiltrated her life, soul, and mind to the fullest extent one person could. And Lena didn't seem to mind at all. Behind that little smile with mysteries and secrets imbedded within it, she was honest and open; eager to talk and always happy to listen. Although she had seemed quietly reserved at first, Kara found—her most favourite part of all—Lena was always quick to laugh. Kara wasn't sure she would ever frown again. 

She had found true happiness. 

When Kara informed Lena that  _ La Belle  _ was at it's halfway point, she suggested they take a bit of a trip. "I like to take a step back halfway through and get a new perspective; preferably my subject taking that step with me," she'd said. It was then that she introduced Lena to the others. They met at the shockingly ordinary home of Lady Samantha and Ruby Arias on Tottenham Court Road; a house with a plain brick facade that concealed rooms of great bohemian dishabille, framed by proud white pillars. The walls were painted in burgundy and deepest blue, cluttered with enormous framed oil paintings and photographic prints, a flourishing signature none other than Samantha's. What seemed like millions of tiny flames sparkled within a crystal chandelier, casting shadows across the walls, and the air was thick with incense and impassioned conversation.

With Lena's arm in the crook of Kara's elbow, the artist ushered her in with an exuberant smile. "Sam, Alex, Ruby—this is Lena Luthor, ' _ La Belle' _ ."

"So  _ you're _ the one," said Samantha, her eyes not leaving Lena's as she gave her a warm smile. "We've been wondering just who the vision is that is keeping Kara's attention so captive." There was a gentle tease in her voice and Lena decided instantly, she liked this member of the Magenta sisterhood. 

Coming up behind her was who Lena assumed to be Kara's sister with the suspicious squint of sisterly protection in her eyes. Nonetheless, she held out her hand but with a smile lacking solidity. "Alexandra. Nice to meet you, Lena."

"Likewise, I've heard so much about you." Lena set aside every defense she could find and put a friendly squeeze in her handshake. 

The evening was spent eating and drinking merrily and Lena conversed with Sam for well over an hour. Ruby was a delight. Despite their differences in origin, they became fast friends and Lena was grateful. Eventually, Kara found her again, arriving with a half bottle of red wine. She held it out in a questioning gesture. "Please," Lena said with a bright smile coming quickly. Kara asked her how she liked the other members of the sisterhood and Lena could say she genuinely did, even Alexandra who was slow to trust this new obsession of Kara's. The night stretched, everyone else in deep, merry conversation with one another, Kara and Lena slipped again into their own little world. It was the way they were together, as if unaware of everybody else in the room. Eventually there was little need to be in a room that was not Kara's studio with people that were not the artist and her model; they had done what they'd come to do—introducing Lena to Kara's closest friends.

And so she whisked Lena away, choosing to walk the few miles through the cobbled and wet streets of London. The seasons in London this time of year were strange, as if the air and the earth were at odds with one another, neither coming to an agreement whether it was winter spring or summer. Much like Lena herself felt often. As they walked and talked, Kara would stop them every so often to point out curious happenings in life that only an artist's eye would seek out. A couple under an umbrella pressed tightly together were kissing each other fervently in the dim streetlights and Kara mused of the striking beauty of love, honor, commitment and passion. The rain that fell in small, sad, fleeting droplets at times, she likened to tears and then asked Lena what she thought the world would be like without sadness, without grief, remorse, anger, envy, or malice. "Would it be better?" She'd asked, and Lena genuinely appreciated the question and together they came up with their answer. "Everything in life has a balance. With light there is darkness, with heat there is cold, with dry there is wet. We cannot have joy, love, pride, or kindness without their balancing counterparts. So no, it wouldn't be better. It would be like living in a colourless world."

There was a dog cowering in an alleyway, fearful of thunder in the distance, and Kara stopped Lena to watch a man with a gentle countenance try to coax the dog into his outstretched arms. The expression that came over Kara's face was one that Lena was sure she could curl up and live forever in. The compassion, the utter zeal for the act of living that Kara possessed. How could one person be so good? So alive? Lena hoped, one day, Kara would have taught her how.

With many a left and right turn, Lena had suspected Kara had a specific destination enroute in mind. It was confirmation when they stopped in front of the London's Art Gallery and exhibition. With triumph she planted her hands on her hips and waggled her brows. "Would you like to see a few of my pieces?" Lena had not seen many but for the sketches on Kara's wall and the incompletes in her portfolio. 

"But it's closed now," she said slowly, knowing full well Kara was aware of this fact.

"But the second story window is never. The maid never remembers to latch it closed after using the potent chemicals she is loathe for."

And inexplicably, Lena laughed. An unladylike snort of a laugh. "We're going to break into a museum. Alright, Kara. Let's do it." She had never felt so free.

With many a window ledge and the roughly set brick wall, the climb was actually fairly easy. Lena was infinitely glad she had, too, worn pants this evening. They tumbled in the window, Lena landing on top of Kara all the while biting the laughter that was shushed by an equally jolly Kara. Hand in hand, they charged through the halls and down the stairwell, skidding to a stop when Kara found her corner exhibit.

Lena was rendered speechless, and Kara eventually set a finger under her chin, closing her mouth. 

One of Kara's gifts was an ability to take her own emotions and, through choice of pigment and brushstroke, render them visually with uncompromising fluency by the force of her own need to communicate and be understood. It was breathtaking.  _ She  _ was breathtaking, and Lena told her as much. 

They wandered the whole museum, talking about art and creating another language in the way they molded so beautifully with one another over such abstractly real subjects. After the climb back down from the second story window, fleeing from an accusatory shout the moment their feet touched the cobblestone to slump in an alley, laughter stealing all the breath from their lungs, they found a little coffee shop open late into the night and shared a muffin and coffee, for Kara had only a few coins in her pockets. It was well after midnight already and Lena couldn't go further than even considering the thought of returning home without wanting to throw a tantrum, wanting this night to never end. And so, they kept walking. 

They found themselves finally, at the foot of Big Ben. The tower was scarcely a decade old and the newness and excitement it continued to encourage was only ever increasing. They walked the three hundred and ninety-nine step to the very top to sit on Kara's coat, shoulder to shoulder to watch the sun come up. Under the brilliant pinks and oranges that lit up the clock's magnificent face, they fell back and in the blissful peace of the still morning sleep overcame them.

The heart attacks that ensued at the nine ear shattering dongs of the morning had Lena and Kara in fits of laughter yet again as they stumbled down the tower and into the haven of Kara's studio. After more progress on  _ La Belle _ , Kara promised they could have a picnic in the grass and fall asleep if the sun shone hot. Despite Lena's protests, she was assured time and time again that despite her lack of sleep she was "as stunning as ever, perhaps even more so" in her state of "utter raw humanity".

With a roll of her eyes, Lena sat back on the chaise and watched Kara work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I would love to know what you think!


	4. Quatre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, slightly mature:) Enjoy!

It had been a month since Lena had first come to Kara's studio to drink peppermint tea and sit as still as she could in a variety of barely-differing positions. Kara opened the door with that familiar smile and pulled Lena into a hug. She always relished the rigidity under Kara's honey soft skin and flowy shirts. Somehow the scent of her floral shampoo combined perfectly with the metallic tang of paint that always surrounded her. "Hi!"

"Hello, Kara." She set her bag down, slipping off her shoes and dropped her jacket beside it. As had become habitual, Kara handed her the drink of her choice as she settled on her spot. But today, a crystal flute with sparkling golden champagne was handed her instead, and tapped against a glass of Kara's own to ring out crisply.

Lena raised her eyebrows. "Are we celebrating?"

"Yes!" She came to sit beside her, their knees brushing, but didn't elaborate.

" _ What  _ are we celebrating?" Lena urged her on. The pure glee Kara's face displayed was indeed infectious.

"You! Me! Us!" At a dubious arched eyebrow on Lena's part, Kara laughed and conceded. "Today is the day we finish  _ La Belle _ ." 

Lena gasped, a smile erupting. "Really? I can finally see it? Kara that's amazing! I'm so proud of you!" 

"Thank you! I'm so proud of  _ you _ , Lee!" She circled her arms around Lena's waist, lifting her from the couch to spin her in the air, spilling a drop of Lena's champagne.

Finally Kara settled after finishing the champagne over their familiar conversation. As she sat on her wooden stool she slumped a bit, omitting a sigh.

"What is it?" Lena asked, leaning to catch Kara's eye behind her easel. 

The artist smiled, albeit bittersweetly. "It means all of this is now over. I can't keep paying your mother to keep your company if  _ La Belle _ is complete."

Lena couldn't think of anything to say. Other than the surge of wild boldness that rose up inside her, an urge and desire she had been toying with for all the time she sat as Kara's model. "I know. But it doesn't have to end today..." She was sitting perched in the centre of the chaise, and when Kara looked at her, Lena returned her gaze from beneath her lashes and pulled her lower lip in under her teeth. With those heavy blue eyes unmoving, Lena slowly pulled the neck of her blouse from one shoulder; they traced the fabric every inch it dropped. When it could go no lower, Lena released the buttons, one painstaking little clip at a time. She wondered if it was Kara's breathing she could hear from here, or her own heartbeat rushing in her ears. There was a bright flush on her neck to her forehead, she was sure of it. Finally the shirt dropped to her elbows and Lena shrugged out of it, left only in her corset. She reached behind her to tug on the lace.

Kara's brushes crashed to the ground and with a flustered curse she scrambled for them to grip them in white knuckles as she hurriedly returned her eyes to her model's form. Practiced fingers had the lace pulled all the way out and Lena finally pulled the shell away from her stomach, relishing in the ease of her breath. "Lee…" Kara choked out in scarcely a whisper. 

Setting it aside, Lena stood and unbuckled her dainty belt. Her eyes never leaving Kara's, she bent to peel the fitting pants from her legs and kicked them aside. 

"Lena..." Kara repeated, her breath lost to her. 

"Kara."

"Lee but what we said– what I told your mother, y–" 

"Kara, I was never concerned with my reputation. You assumed and I never corrected. Though the thought  _ was  _ appealing that I be a lady whose modesty required protection." 

"But–" Her nostrils flared with her exhalation. "Are you sure?"

Lena smiled, she had caught her artist. "I would like you to do this for me. Have you never painted nude figures?" she poked at Kara.

"Wh–well when I uh–" she cleared her throat. "In my studies." She lifted a hand to shakily adjust her glasses, an anxious tick Lena had come to adore.

"Okay." Lena slipped her fingers into the lace at her hips and removed the last article. She sat back down, reclining to lean against the one arm of the chaise. "Kara, come position me how you'd like." When Kara's hesitance stretched a beat too long, Lena added: "Please?"

Nodding, Kara's adam's apple bobbed with her swallow and she stood to approach Lena. Like the night they had met, a sort of confidence seemed to take hold of her. Or Kara just realized anew that this was Lena. Lena and Kara. Her artist wasn't the only one who believed this was somehow fated.

Kneeling, Kara took one of Lena's arms and placed it above her head to rest lazily against the back of the couch and would disappear into her hair. Lena could see her mind spinning as Kara imagined the painting as it would be. Taking a pillow, she set it under her other arm and set her hand to rest by her temple; it would frame her face in a way. With the most gentle hands, she combed Lena's silken hair from her face to flow over her shoulder and curl behind her breast. She turned her chin with a thumb to face Kara more, and hovered there for a moment, seemingly at war with herself, before she brushed Lena's lower lip with a featherlight touch. She felt like trembling. 

Moving down, she didn't miss the way Kara's eyes took in every curve of flesh. Touching her hips, she indicated she shift to rest on one hip, her body twisting gently. The leg resting on top, Kara lifted reverently by the thigh and pulled it forward to bend gracefully at the knee. Her foot she took and rested it in the arch of the other. 

Kara's hands lingered, unwilling, almost, to sever the touch, as she observed her work. Not as she would have it, she bent Lena's other leg for the top one to drape, and hooked her lower foot under her ankle. 

Finally she sat back on her heels and stood, quickly walking over to a wooden box nestled on the bookshelf and carefully lifted something from within. When Kara turned, Lena found it was a necklace. Coming over, Kara laid it on her chest and lifted her hair to clasp the chain at her nape. Tugging it down, she let it rest in the slope between Lena's breasts. It was a rectangular diamond about the size of a large coin; the most brilliant emerald green Lena had ever seen. With her fingers on the stone, she was sure Kara could feel her heart pounding beneath. And maybe she did, for when Kara met her eyes they were dark as a twilight sky. 

"Comfortable?" Kara's voice was a tight husk and it inexplicably made Lena want to clear her own throat on her behalf. Lena only nodded. Finding herself, Kara gently joked: "One last thing, you have to wear that little hint of a smile for me."

Lena felt her lips quirk.

"Okay." Kara stood and returned to her easel. Looking around, her hands on her thighs, she cleared her throat, collecting her scattered thoughts. "Okay," she repeated. "New canvas." She jumped to take  _ La Belle  _ and put it aside, handling her piece like she might a newborn. Lena almost chuckled at Kara's flustering, but her blood was still rushing hot and cold in her veins all at once.

To have one's portrait painted is among the most intimate of experiences. To feel the weight of another person's full attention and meet it eye to eye.

While Kara studied Lena, Lena studied her.

She became addicted to Kara's focus. And she learned, too, the power of being watched. If she were to move her chin, even a little, she would see the change reflected in Kara's face. The slight narrowing of her eyes as she took in the new spill of light.

Something that Lena came to learn was: it is hard not to become infatuated with a beautiful woman who pays you her complete attention.

There was no clock inside the studio. There was no time. Working together, day after day, the world beyond its walls dissolved. There was Kara and Lena, and even those boundaries came to blur within the strange envelopment of their endeavour. 

Sometimes, Kara would ask questions about Lena that came from nowhere to disrupt the dense quiet of the room, and she answered as best she could whilst Kara listened and painted, concentration making a faint line appear between her brows. At first Lena was able to skirt the truth, but as the weeks wore on, she began to fear that Kara could see through her shadows and embellishments. More than that, Lena felt a new and troublesome urge to lay herself bare. 

And so she steered the conversation to safer subjects like art and science, life and time. Lena's depth of knowledge of science surprised Kara, for she smiled, a slight quizzical frown, and stopped what she was doing, considering Lena over the top of her canvas. That topic was of great interest to her, too, she said eventually, though admitting her knowledge of such workings of the world did not stretch nearly as far as Lena's. With great curiosity, Kara entreated Lena she tell her where and how she came to know and understand all of these things. Impassioned, Lena told her.

Kara was like no one Lena had met before. When she spoke, it was impossible not to listen. She was wholly committed to whatever it was that she was doing or feeling or expressing at the time. Lena found herself thinking about her when they weren't together, remembering a sentiment that she'd expressed, the way she'd thrown her head back and laughed at an anecdote Lena had told her, and yearning to make her laugh like that again. She could no longer remember what she used to think about before she knew Kara. She was the music that gets inside a person's head and changes the rhythm of their pulse; the inexplicable urge that drives a person to act against their better judgement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think!


	5. Cinq

"This is it," Lillian said, fasting the button at the back of the almost provocative dress which left little to the imagination. "Play your cards right, my girl, and this could be the start of something magnificent."  _ 'For whom?'  _ Lena wanted to say from behind her teeth clenched tightly.

Lex, predictably, did not share her mother's enthusiasm. He had resented the time Lena spent as Kara's model, seeming to take her absence during the days as a personal slight. Lena heard him some nights in Lillian's parlor, complaining about the diminished returns, and when those arguments failed to sway her—the payment for Lena's modeling services was more than equal to the earnings from Lena's thievery—he insisted that it was a "risk" to let her get "too close to the quarry." But it was Lillian Luthor who ruled the roost. Lena had been invited to an exhibition at the Royal Academy, one of the brightest, most important events in the London social scene, and so, Lena was dispatched.

She arrived to find a mass of people, men in shiny black top hats and their long evening jackets, and women in exquisite silk dress, filling the great room. Their eyes brushed over Lena as she made her way through the thick, warm sea. The air was very close and it thrummed with rapid conversation broken occasionally by barks of laughter.

Lena was beginning to give up hope that she would find Kara when suddenly her face came into focus before her. "You're here," Kara said. "I waited at the other entrance, but I missed you."

As she took Lena's hand she felt a hot rush of electric energy surge through her. It was novel to see Kara like this, in public, having spent the past six months cloistered away in her studio. They had spoken about so many things, and Lena knew by now so much about her, yet here, surrounded by all these laughing people, she was out of context. The new setting, familiar to Kara but foreign to Lena, rendered the artist a different person from the one she knew. 

She led her through the crowd to where the painting was hanging. she had glimpsed it in the studio, but nothing could have prepared her for the way it would look upon the wall, magnified by virtue of its display. Kara's eyes searched Lena's. "What do you think?"

She was at an unusual loss for words. The painting was extraordinary. The colours were lush and her skin looked luminous, as if it would be warm to the touch. Kara had painted her at the centre of the canvas, her hair flowing out in ripples, her eyes direct, and her expression as if she had just given a confidence that would not be repeated. And yet, there was something more underlying the image. Kara had captured in this beautiful face a vulnerability that rendered the whole exquisite.

But her speechlessness about more than the image itself.  _ La Belle  _ was a time capsule. Beneath the brushstrokes and the pigments lay every word, every glance, that Kara and Lena exchanged; she bore a record of everytime Kara laughed, that she came to touch Lena's face, shifting it ever so slightly towards the light. Each thought that she had was recorded, each instance that their minds met in that isolated studio in the corner of the garden. Within La Belle's face there lay one thousand secrets, which together tell a story, known only to Kara and Lena. To see her hanging on the wall in that room of noisy strangers was overwhelming.

Kara still waiting for her answer, Lena said, "She's…"

She squeezed her hand. "Isn't she?"

Kara excused herself then for she had spotted Lady Grant, and told Lena that she would be back immediately.

Lena continue to look at the painting and was aware that a tall, handsome man had come to stand close by. "What do you think?" he said, and at first Lena thought that he was speaking to her. She was struggling to find words when another woman answered. She was on his other side, striking and tall, with warm chocolate hair and a bold mouth.

"The painting is wonderful, as always," she said. 

He continued her train of thought: "I do wonder, though, why she insists on choosing her models from the gutter."

The woman laughed. "You know Kara. She has always been of a perverse nature."

"She cheapens it. Look at the way she stares directly at us; no shame, no class…And those lips! I said as much to Catherine Grant."

"And what did she reply?"

"She was inclined to agree, although she did say that she assumed Kara had intended to make that very point. Something about contrast, the innocence of the setting, the boldness of the woman."

Every cell in Lena's body retracted. She wished nothing more than that she might disappear. It had been a grave mistake to have come; she saw that now. Lex had been right. Lena had become caught up in the energy that surrounded Kara. She had allowed her guard to drop. She had thought them partners in a great endeavour. She had been unthinkably stupid.

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and she longed to escape. She glanced behind her to see how easily she could get to the door. The room was overflowing with guests, one pressed up hard against the next, and the air was cloying, thick with cigar smoke and cologne.

"Lena." Kara was back, her face warm with excitement. But then: "What is it?" as her gaze raked Lena's. "What's happened?" 

"There you are, Kara!" said the tall, beautiful woman. "I was wondering where you'd got to—we were just admiring  _ La Belle _ ." 

Kara shot Lena a final glance of encouragement before meeting the grin of her friend, she was now sliding her arm around her shoulders. She placed her hand gently in the small of Lena's back and ushered her forward. "Lena Luthor," Kara said, "this is Andrea Rojas, one of the Magenta Sisterhood and my good friend."

Andrea took her hand and brushed it with her lips. "So this is the famous Miss Luthor about whom we've heard so much." Her eyes met Lena's and she read within them unmistakable interest. One did not grow up in the shady laneways of Convent Garden and the dank streets around the Thames without learning to recognise that look. "It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. About time she shared you with us."

The handsome man beside her held out his cold hand then and said, "I see that I shall have to introduce myself. My name is Lord Monel Daxam." And gesturing to Kara: "And this, soon to be Lady Kara Daxam."

  
  


As soon as Lena noticed Kara in deep conversation with another guest, she gave a vague excuse to no one in particular and extricated herself, making her way through the crowd until she reached the door.

It was a relief to escape the room, and yet as she slipped quickly and the dark folds of the cool night, she could not help but feel that she had stepped through more than one doorway. She had left behind an alluring world of creativity and light, and was now returned to the dim, bleak alleyways of her past. 

She was in just such an alley, thinking just such a thought, when she felt her grip on her wrist. She turned, expecting to see Lex, who had been lurking all night in the middle of Trafalgar Square, but it was Kara's friend from the exhibition, Andrea Rojas. Lena could hear the clatter of noise on the strand, but aside from a vagrant slumped in a gutter they were alone.

"Miss Luthor," she purred. "You left so suddenly. I was concerned you were unwell."

"I'm fine, thank you. The room was hot—I needed air."

"It can be overwhelming, I expect, when one is unused to the attention. But I fear it is not safe for a beautiful lady by herself out here. There are dangers in the night."

"Thank you for your concern."

"Perhaps I could take you somewhere for some refreshment. I have rooms nearby and a very understanding landlady."

Lena could see at once the sort of refreshment she desired. "No, thank you. I don't wish to detain you from your evening."

She came closer then and laid one hand on Lena's waist, sliding it around her back and pulling Lena towards her. She was taller than Lena, even on her heels, and she could admit that the woman was incredibly attractive, were one not to have made her acquaintance. Her hand continued lower then, to rest on the accentuated curve of Lena's bottom, with her other hand, she took two gold coins from her pocket, holding them up between her fingers. "I promise to make it worth your while."

Lena fought the bile in her throat. She met Andrea Rojas' eyes and did not look away. "As I said, Miss Rojas, I would prefer to get some air."

The woman gave a firm, resolute squeeze with her long hands before taking a step back, but not before the knuckles with the coins brushed slowly over Lena's breast leaving only at her hip.

"As you wish." She gave another predatory smile, one laced with unfulfilled desire, and nodded. "Good night, Miss Luthor. Until we meet again."

The interaction was unpleasant, and yet Lena had matters of more importance on her mind. She had no wish to return yet to Lillian Luthor, and so, with care not to attract Lex's attention, she went to the only place she could think to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for making Andrea so unlikeable in this story, I actually like her??? in the way one likes a villainous character?   
> How do y'all feel about her?


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not many original fanfic writers do this, but I'm open to hearing suggestions/requests for what you'd like to see in this story. so please do let me know!

If Samantha was surprised to see Lena, her reaction was mild. She had been unable to attend the party due to Ruby's incapacitation with influenza. 

They had spoken with much anticipation about the unveiling of the painting, and she turned now to receive Lena's triumphant story. Instead, as soon as she opened her mouth to speak, she began to cry—Lena who had not cried since the first morning she woke up at Lillian Luthor's without her real mother.

"What is it?" she said with some alarm. "What has happened? Has somebody hurt you?"

Lena told her no, that it was nothing like that, not really. That she was not even certain herself why she was crying.

"Then you must start at the beginning and describe everything. That way, maybe  _ I  _ will be able to tell you why you are crying."

So she did. Lena told her first about the painting: the way she had stood before it and felt shy of herself. The way the image that Kara had created in that glass-roofed studio of hers was so much  _ more _ than Lena was. That it was radiant; that it swept away all of the petty concerns of daily life; that it captured vulnerability and hope and the woman beneath the artifice. 

"Then you are crying because the beauty of the artwork overwhelmed you."

To which Lena shook her head, because she knew it was not that.

She told Samantha about the tall, handsome man who had come to stand beside her, and the pretty woman with her chocolate-coloured hair and striking mouth, and the things they had said and the way that they had laughed. She left out the latter encounter with the woman, knowing the two were of one sisterhood bond.

Samantha sighed then and nodded. "You are crying because the woman said unkind things about you."

To which Lena shook her head again, because she had never cared for the good opinion of those she did not know.

"I know you're not crying because you wished for a different dress."

Lena laughed through her tears, agreeing that the dress was not the matter; rather, that in that particular room, she had realized that perhaps the woman was right. She was from a gutter of a family; one riddled with affairs and malicious intentions, criminal schemes and insatiable greed. 

And she was overcome with sudden anger at Kara, she had trusted her, and she had betrayed Lena, had she not? She had made Lena feel at home in her company, in her world, flattered Lena with her absolute attention—those deep, watchful eyes, the clench of her jawline when she concentrated, the hint of need—for surely Lena had not imagined it?—only to embarrass her in a room filled with people who were not like Lena at all. When she invited her to attend as her guest, she had thought— Well, Lena had misunderstood. And of _ course  _ there was a fiancé, that handsome man with a neat beard and fine clothing. Kara should have told Lena, allowed her to prepare, to arrive on proper terms. She had tricked her and she never wanted to see her again.

Samantha was looking at Lena with a fond, sad expression, and Lena knew what she was going to say. That the charge was unfair. That she had been a fool and the mistake was Lena's, for Kara owed her nothing. Lena had been engaged and paid to perform a task: to pose as her model for a painting she wished to exhibit at the Royal Academy—making an utter embarrassment of herself in Kara's studio, making assumptions with an overinflated ego.

But Sam said nothing of those things. Instead, she put her arms around Lena and said, "My darling Lena. You are crying because you are in love."

**  
  
  
**

After leaving Samantha's, Lena hurried through the dark streets of Covent Garden, thick with ruddy-cheeked men spilling out of supper clubs and drunken songs drifting upstairs from basement rooms, cigar smoke mingling with the leftover smell of animals and rotting fruit.

Her long skirts shushed along the cobblestones and as she turned onto Hope Street, Lena glanced skyward and glimpsed the hazy moon between buildings; not the stars, though, for the grey smog of London sat too heavy. She let herself in the front door of Lillian's house, careful not to wake any sleeping souls and tiptoed up the stairs. As she passed the doorway to the kitchen, a voice from the dark said, "Well, well, look what the cat dragged in."

She saw then that Lex was sitting at the table, a half gin bottle open in front of him. A full wedge of moonlight fell through the crooked window, and one side of his face disappeared into shadow. 

"Think you're clever, don't you, giving me the runaround? I lost a night waiting for you. I couldn't work the theatre alone, so I wasted my time under Nelson's bloody Column watching the toffs come and go. What am I going to tell Mother when I haven't brought in the coin she was promised, huh?"

"I have never asked you to wait for me, Lex, and I would be very pleased if you would not do so anymore."

"Oh you'd be  _ pleased,  _ would you?" He laughed, but the sound was parched. "You'd be pleased indeed. Aren't you the proper lady now." She had always been a classy sort, but a man would see what he would. He pushed his chair back suddenly and came to where she was standing in the doorway. He took her face by the chin and Lena felt his breath, warm on her neck, as he said, "You know the first thing mother said to me when you came to live with us? She sent me upstairs to where you were sleeping and she said, 'Go and have a look at your pretty new sister, Lex. She's going to need a close eye kept on her. You mark my words, were going to have to watch her closely.' And mother was right. I see the way they look at you, those men. I know what they're thinking."

Lena was too tired for a petty argument and one that they'd had already a number of times before. She was eager to get upstairs where she could be alone in her room to reflect on the things Samantha had said. Lex was leering at Lena and she felt repulsed, but she was sorry for him, too, for he was a man whose palette was empty of colour. The boundaries of his life had been drawn narrow when he was a boy and they had never been extended. As his grip continued firm on her face, she said softly, "You need not worry, Lex. The painting is finished now. I am home. The world has been set to rights." 

Perhaps he had been expecting Lena to argue, for he swallowed whatever it was that he had been preparing to say next. He blinked slowly and then nodded. "Well, don't you forget it," he said, "Don't you forget that you belong here with us. You're not one of them, no matter what mother might tell you when she's sniffing after artists' gold. That's just for show, right? You'll get yourself hurt if you forget it, and you'll only have yourself to blame."

Lex let go of her at last and she made herself smile. But as Lena turned to leave, he reached out to grab her wrist, pulling her back fast towards him. "You look pretty in that dress. You're a beautiful woman now. All grown up."

There was menace in his tone, and she could imagine that a young woman accosted in such a way on the street would feel terror shoot up her spine as she met the scrutiny of his gaze, his curled lip, his thinly veiled intentions; and well might she be advised to react thusly. But she had known Lex a long time. He would never harm her while his mother was alive. She was far too valuable for Lillian's enterprise. And so, "I'm tired, Lex," she said, "It's very late. I have much work to catch up on tomorrow and I need to go to bed now. Mother wouldn't want either of us too tired for a proper day's work tomorrow."

At the mention of Lillian, his grip loosened, and she took took the opportunity to pull herself free and hurry upstairs. She left the tallow candle unlit as she stripped immediately from her silken dress, and when she draped it over the hook on the back of the door, she made sure to flare out the skirt to cover the keyhole.

Lena lay awake that night, turning over the things Samantha had said to her, reliving every minute of time she had spent with Kara in her studio.

"Does she love you too?" Sam had asked.

"I think not," Lena had replied. "For she is engaged to be married." It was only an infatuation, Lena kept telling herself, and would continue to.

Samantha had smiled patiently at that. "You have known her for some months now. You have spoken to her many times. She has told you about her life, her loves, her passions and pursuits. And yet tonight you learned for the first time that she is engaged to be married."

"Yes."

"Lena, if I were engaged to be married to the man whom I love, then I would talk about him to the man who puts down grit during snowstorms. I would sing his name at every opportunity to every willing set of ears this side of Moscow. I cannot tell you with any certainty what she feels for you, but I can tell you that she does not love the man that you met tonight."


	7. Sept

It was just after dawn when Lena heard the knock on the door downstairs. The streets of Covent Garden were already busy with carts and barrows and women with baskets of fruits on their heads trudging towards the market, and Lena assumed it was the local watchman. He and Lillian had an understanding, such that when he was performing his daily patrol of the streets, rattling out the half-hour marks so that the people could tell the time, he would stop to bang the knocker of their door to signal the wake-up time for the orphans much younger than she, snatched up in Lillian's scheming claws. 

The noise was softer than usual, though, and when it sounded for the second time, Lena rose from her bed and pulled the curtain aside to peer down through the window. 

It was not the watchman in his slouch hat and greatcoat at the door. It was Kara, still dressed in her coat and scarf from the night before. Lena's heart leapt without her consent, and after a split second of indecision she opened the window and called down to her in a half whisper: "What are you doing?"

Kara stepped backwards, looking up to see where the voice was coming from, and was almost hit by a flower cart being pushed down the street. "Lena," she said, her face brightening when she saw her. "Lena, come down."

"What are you doing here?"

"Come down, I must speak with you!"

"But the sun has barely risen."

"I realize, but I cannot make it rise any faster. I have been standing here all night. I have drunk more coffee from that stall on the corner than one woman should ever drink, but I cannot wait any longer." She placed one hand across her heart and said, "Come down, Lee, or else I will be forced to climb up to you."

Lena nodded quickly and started dressing, her fingers overzealous with anticipation so that she fumbled each button and tripped on her own pants no less than thrice. There was no time to neaten her hair other than throwing it up in hopefully something as chic as a messy bun; she hurried down the stairs, eager to reach Kara before anyone else did.

She undid the latch and pulled open the door and in that moment, as they faced each other from either side of threshold Lena knew that what Samantha had said was true. There was so much that she wanted Kara to know. She wanted to tell Kara about Lena's father, and Lillian, and all the other children, and the little she remembered and knew of her real mother. Lena wanted to tell her that she loved her and that everything up until that point in time had been but a pencil sketch, preliminary and pale in anticipation of their meeting. 

But there were too many words to find and she did not know where to start. And then Lillian was beside Lena, her housecoat tied crookedly around her middle, the creases of sleep still pressed into her cheek. "What's all this about? What on earth are you doing here at this hour?" 

"Good morning, Mrs. Luthor," said Kara. "I apologize for interrupting your day."

"It's not even light yet."

"I realize, Mrs. Luthor, but it is urgent. I must impress upon you my deepest admiration for your daughter. The painting of  _ La Belle  _ sold last night and I wish to speak to you about painting Miss Luthor again."

"I'm afraid I can't spare her," said Lillian with a sniff. "I rely on my daughter here. Without her I have to pay my servants to do extra, and although I am an honorable lady, Miss Danvers, I am not wealthy," she lied fluently. 

"I will make sure to compensate you, Mrs. Luthor. My next painting is likely to take longer. I propose to pay your daughter double what I did last time."

"Double?"

"If that sounds acceptable to you."

Lillian was not the type to turn down an offer of coin, but there was no one better with a nose for value. "I don't think double will do. No, I don't think that will do at all. Perhaps if you were to suggest three times the price…?"

Lex, I noticed then, had come down the stairs and was watching the proceedings from the darkened doorway that led into the parlor.

"Mrs. Luthor," said Kara, her eyes firmly on Lena's, "Your daughter is my muse, my destiny. I will pay you whatever you think fair."

"Well then. At four times the price, I say we have ourselves a deal."

"Agreed." Kara risked a smile then. "Do you need to collect anything from here?" she asked Lena.

"Nothing."

Lena said good-bye to Lillian, and then Kara took her hand and started leading her through the streets of the Seven Dials. 

They did not speak at once, but something between them had changed. Rather, something that had been there all along had finally been acknowledged.

As they left Covent Garden, and Kara turned to look at Lena over her shoulder, she knew that there would be no going back from here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is EXTREMELY short, I know, I'm sorry. I'm traveling abroad currently so finding time is next to impossible. But please let me know if you think I should continue this story because I could easily let it peter out and let it write it's own ending. Thoughts??  
> Thank you for reading! As always comments, suggestions, and critiques are always welcome:)


	8. Huit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, gettin steamy

It was different for Lena after Kara had come for her that morning on Lillian Luthor's front porch. She and Kara each assumed a new permanence to their relationship that had been absent before. Kara began a new painting titled,  _ Sleeping Beauty _ ; but where it once was painter and model, now they were something else. Work bled into life, and life into work. They became inseparable.

The first weeks of January were bitterly cold, but the furnace in her studio kept them warm. Lena remembered looking up at the glass roof misting over, the grey sky flowering beyond, as she lay upon the bed of velvet cushions Kara had assembled for a bower; her hair, she spread around Lena, long strands over her shoulders, across her décolletage.

Eventually, there was no longer a barrier to their conversation, and like a needle in the most adept hands it wove together the various threads of their lives, so that Kara and Lena became tied by the stories they shared with one another. 

Kara's friends noticed her absence. She had always been prone to periods of obsessive work and retreat, leaving London for weeks at a time on creative travels that her family knew affectionately as her faraways, but this was different. She was not only absent in presence and being, it was her mind that was always drifting elsewhere the rare times her studio released it's artist from possessive fingers, ebbing and flowing back to the buoy that was Lena Luthor in a world a sea of pray little else, it seemed. But were one to ask Kara or Lena themselves, the answer would prove most different. Kara had never felt more alive and present in the shoes that stood on this earth; Lena made every colour more vibrant for her, she looked for the essence of Lena in every sound of joy, display of affection, in every flicker of dreams and hope. 

Likewise, Lena had never smiled more, laughed as loud, nor generally been in love with the act of existing as she was with Kara. Kara thrummed in Lena’s veins and prickled beneath her perpetually flushed skin. She chided herself for it, but she often wondered if she’d truly been alive before Kara. 

Kara had just left for the toilet and Lena, holding her position as she was quickly learning all the ways she could assist Kara more and more in her work, was paging through a Charlotte Brontë from Kara’s impressively extensive shelf. Hearing her footfalls behind her, Lena smiled, their usually sure and light falls were always comforting. But today they faltered slightly, slowing, becoming heavier. Lena risked a glance over her shoulder to where kara had come to stand behind the chaise. Lena found those shimmering blues and dove into the clear waters that, rather, gave her breath. They seemed deeper today, darker. Kara brushed Lena’s cheek with a thumb, her touch so light; reverent even. “La Belle.”

Lena’s smile stretched to its fullness; something she was still getting accustomed to wearing. “Not anymore.”

“No, you are forever  _ La Belle. _ My beautiful.” Her wandering thumb found itself new paths over her eyelid, down the slope of her nose, smoothing across her eyebrow; it kissed her chin before settling on her lips. Kara caressed those lips only her paintbrushes had before. The pressure was so light, Lena sucked her lip in against the unbearable tickle. “No,” Kara said, and Lena released it, Kara settling her thumb again on lips wet and shining. Her eyes bore into Lena and she was sure she would drown. Finally, they flicked down to her thumb and rested there for an infinite heartbeat. 

Kara’s hand, so big and warm, slid into Lena’s dark tresses and she bent to bring their faces a mere breath apart. One last time, her eyes found Lena’s and the question shining in their depths was undeniable. Unable to help herself, Lena lifted her chin and pressed her lips to Kara’s, breathing in sharply through her nose at the intoxicating feeling of it. It was the most gentle action, laced in grace and love, but it was an action bursting at the seams with wound up longing and adoration. Finally Kara ripped herself away, their lips sticking together, and they panted with lost breath. 

Lena couldn't stop looking at Kara, consuming her very being with her eyes, hungrily lapping up the twitch in her lip, the glaze over her hooded eyes, the disheveled strands framing her face where Lena's hands had wreaked havoc. "Lena… I- was that okay for me to do that?"

"Do it again." Lena lifted her chin indignantly and she knew afresh in that moment, she had this fine artist wrapped around her finger. At the lift of her chin or the twitch of a finger she knew Kara would be there, seeing it all, reacting to everything. Everything that Lena did elicited a response from Kara. Her gaze was a heavy blanket that shrouded her always. She was absolutely intoxicated.

Their lips moved together messily and reached deeply. They pulled from one another the most tender of emotions buried deep inside themselves, giving to the other something so precious one could not describe it. Eventually, Lena put her hand to Kara's collarbone and added the lightest pressure. Kara so in tune, knew exactly, and pulled away. 

"We need to do this right." Lena's hungry smirk was back to replace her desperation. "Sit on your chair and watch me. You know how to do that so well." Kara stumbled backwards, finding her chair and wasting no time to settle her gaze on Lena.

And as the same afternoon of the first month of their time as artist and muse, Lena repeated her actions. Removing the dress Kara had compiled for her, one article at a time at an achingly slow pace. Lena watched as Kara's eyes tracked every single movement with meticulous attention. Finally Lena lay back on her arrangement of cushions and beckoned Kara to come to her.

After months and months of painting Lena, of tracing every curve, indentation, freckle, and flaw of Lena's perfect body, Kara had built up an inescapable longing to trace with more than her eyes. To press her fingers into the soft skin her paintbrushes strived to make so smooth. She wanted to feel if the hair she made to shine so was as silken as she was to paint it. Were the lips she formed with the utmost care conjurable as soft and supple as they looked under her bristles? 

Kara was a flame burning brightly with curiosity. She was an explorer looking upon a treasure trove she could only look at; a land of the richest discoveries forced only to transfer to a map from a distance. What was this insufferable injustice? Who had cast such a curse upon her?

No longer was she behind the glass, though.

Her treasure was beckoning her forward. At long last.

Stepping forward tentatively, Kara knelt before Lena. This moment was one unparalleled and she would treat it as such, unbelieving of her great fortune. 

"I can't imagine how it must be as an artist, to bleed such realism into your paintings by only looking. Is it possible? Is it truly real what you transfer if you have not felt it for yourself? For the memory of the pads of your fingers to not serve you as you paint? Touch, Kara. Feel for yourself what you paint."

And so Kara did. She traced every curve her brushes had mimicked, the most tender ones of her breasts, hips, neck, thighs, calves. She remembered how she had painted these. How she didn't fully understand what she did now. The gooseflesh that littered Lena's skin wherever Kara's featherlight touch skimmed entranced her, she couldn't help but place her lips on it, the pads of her fingers too rough and calloused to feel something so delicate. 

Kara took Lena in her hands, gathered her up. Breathed in the sweet, sad milkiness of her skin. Her fingers settled over Lena's heart. Her cheek resting against the column of her neck, Kara listened closely, her ears tuned into nothing but the pulse of life through Lena's veins. It was music to her ears; a steady rhythm of infinites. 

Her lips would not be satiated as they continued to roam over every bare inch of flesh given up so freely. But she would not taste, not yet. 

Lena was ever patient. Kara could admire nothing to the extent than that of her patience as she would sit day in and day out for Kara. Always for Kara. Only for her. 

But as her lips trailed adoration over her hip bone, Lena's breath picked up its pace and shallowed into airy gasps. Her patience had its limit, as did all things in life. Her spine arched so beautifully off the velvet of the chaise and Kara wasted not a moment to slide her hand beneath, dipping in the hollow in her back, gliding up the ravine, feeling the little rise and falls of her vertebrae. 

"Kara." Lena finally voiced her desperation. 

Kara smoothed her hands down Lena's thighs, pressing slightly and marveling at the soft indentations before finally parting them. 

And finally, she tasted. All of her senses overwhelmed. With Lena, there would never be simply five senses. With Lena, every tiny aspect became a sensation life would no longer be full without. 

The crescents in Kara's scalp.

Blossoming bruises on Lena's hips.

One throat raw with ecstasy, the other sweetened slick with nectar.

Kara had never loved the sound of her name more than that moment.

And in that studio on the edge of the garden, beneath frosted glass panes, two bodies moved as one. Bare, they molded together, if one were to look, one wouldn't know where one began and the other ended. Or was that to be said about soul and heart? 

In their eyes, trained eternally on one another, nothing else existed outside of Kara and Lena together and alone. 

Maybe there was no grand beginning for either of them, or an elaborate ending fated out in the stars; perhaps the only thing that mattered was this moment, in this room, and every moment to ever follow them, hand in hand, forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, please let me know if you enjoyed it. 💛 I wanted to end the story here, but realized I still have untied threads and that just won't do, so consider yourselves lucky


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